


Feels Like Home

by thejabberwock



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Skyfall, Childhood Memories, Comfort, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 19:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejabberwock/pseuds/thejabberwock
Summary: James takes Q to visit his childhood home.





	Feels Like Home

**Author's Note:**

> With all the talk of tumblr going down the tubes, I wanted to make sure all my fics were backed up here.

  


Bond knows there are questions Q doesn’t want to ask. It’s in the furtive glances and the way he keeps close to Bond’s side as they walk into the house.

The silence started somewhere on the moor, the fidgeting Q is prone to when he thinks Bond is emotionally unstable and isn’t certain how to proceed. The wide eyes and surprised glances he directed at Bond while they drove down the path to the house were there as well. Bond isn’t certain if it’s the size of the house, or the state of disrepair. 

Probably both. 

There are sheets covering the furniture–the chandeliers as well. It surprises him, although it shouldn’t. He’s not sure what he expected to have happened to the house in the thirty years since he was last here. Unoccupied and managed by the gamekeeper. 

He wouldn’t even be here now if not for his father’s ancient solicitor ringing with an offer for the property; as he does every year. 

For the first time Bond is considering it. 

“It’s a beautiful old house,” Q says beside him, and Bond glances over, smiles a little at the concern his quartermaster is attempting to hide. But it’s been thirty years and his parents are long dead. He’s about to say as much when shuffling footsteps alert him that they’re not alone. 

Instinctively, Bond shifts so Q is behind him, hand going for the gun in his holster but it’s halted mid-reach when he sees the intruder. 

The bearded man smiles widely, trains his shotgun toward the floor. “James.” 

Bond accepts the handshake offered, smiles in return. “Q,” he says, turning a little for introductions, “this is Kincade. He’s been the gamekeeper here since I was a child.” 

“Q?” Kincade echoes. 

“A nickname, sir,” Q tells him and is promptly offered a hand as well. 

“A pleasure to meet a friend of James’,” the big man tells him and although friend is not an accurate moniker, James lets it pass. 

“This is the first time you’ve been here in thirty years,” the gamekeeper says. “Have you decided to take the offer?” 

“Considering it,” James tells him. Q has moved closer once more and Kincade looks between them, clearly drawing the right conclusion this time. Bond touches the small of Q’s back; the reassurance relaxes his spine. 

Kincade looks satisfied as he addresses Q. “Perhaps you can change his mind, Q. She’s a beauty.” He gestures for Q to follow as he steps away. James falls back with a smile, content to allow the gamekeeper to continue the tour. 

“This is the gun room,” he explains and Bond follows them in, only half listening to the gamekeeper’s tales of the hunts his father so enjoyed. It’s his father’s gun which draws his attention, still safe in its case after so many years. Kincade has kept it in good repair.

“He showed you how to shoot with that gun,” the gamekeeper says from beside him. Q is watching Bond, eyes alert behind his spectacles. “Do you remember?” 

James hums an affirmative, but Kincade has already moved on. “Come along, Q. It’s the library you’ll want to see.”

Q hesitates, eyes on Bond, but Bond smiles, eyebrows peaking in silent assurance. 

As Q joins him, Kincade says , “It was James’ mother who loved the library…”

His voice fades away as Bond turns back to his father’s gun, runs his fingers along the initials in the wood. The memory is sharp: his birthday, and although he unwrapped a gun of his own that year, it was his father’s he learned with. The three of them–Kincade trailing behind then–in the tall grass as Bond followed his father’s instructions to the letter. Eager, as ever, to please him. 

His mother’s welcoming smile when they returned home with their prize, is just as clear in his memory. 

It’s been thirty years, but Bond feels the tug of grief as brightly as he did the day they died. Just for a moment, he allows himself the indulgence. And then he closes the cabinet, his father’s gun in its place, and goes to find Q. 

They’ve moved on to the study. Their backsides are to him, both of them bent to peer inside the hidden space in the wall. 

“A priest’s hole?” Q asks in surprise. 

“Left over from the reformation,” Kincade answers. “The tunnel leads out under the moor.

“I didn’t realise priests’ holes had tunnels,” Q muses. 

“Aye, some of them do.” A pause and then Kincade’s voice is soft with the grief he and Bond shared, “The night I told him his parents died, he hid in here for two days. When he did come out, he wasn’t a boy anymore.” 

Ever the poet, Kincade. 

“It was quiet,” Bond tells them from where he’s still standing in the doorway. They both twist, but it’s the ache in Q’s eyes that holds his attention. It only lasts a few seconds before Q tucks it away again. “Good place to think,” Bond adds with a smile. “Shall I take you on a tour, Q?” 

Q’s eyebrows rise above the frames of his glasses. “Through the tunnel?” 

“You’ll like it,” Bond assures him, because it reminds him of MI6′s new labyrinthine headquarters. “Kincade knows where the tunnel leads.” Bond glances over. “He’ll show us the grounds when we come out the other side?” 

“My pleasure,” the gamekeeper agrees. “And then we’ll see if you remember anything I taught you.” He emphasises his words with a rap of knuckles against the gun he’s holding. 

“I’ll do my best,” Bond says with a wry twist to his lips, which the gamekeeper has no hope of understanding. Kincade tips his chin in farewell before he leaves them alone in the study. 

Bond crosses the room to the old priest’s hole. It’s strange, how small it looks now. He looks back at Q, who’s watching him now with studious calm. When Bond holds out his hand, Q takes it. 

They have to stoop low, but once they’re inside, there’s room to spare. And certainly enough room to take Q by the hips and pull him close. Amusement immediately lights his eyes, but it’s tempered by the things he isn’t sure he’s allowed to say. 

Bond leans in to kiss his cheek softly. “I’m fine, you know,” he murmurs. Q’s fingers slide into the hair at his nape. 

“You don’t have to be, you know.” He turns his head and their lips meet. It’s quiet in the space, just as it was all those years ago. But this is different, an entirely different kind of safety. He kisses Q once more and sets their foreheads together. 

“Is that something you want?” Q eventually asks. His fingers are playing idle at Bond’s neck. “To keep the house?” 

“It’s not home,” Bond tells him simply. 

“Your flat is more convenient to work,” Q agrees, but Bond smiles. That isn’t what he means at all. “But you could keep it, if you wanted. Maybe as a place to retire–in several years,” Q says quickly when Bond attempts to object. 

“Mm,” Bond hums, mollified. “I think we should take the offer instead and buy a home we can live in now.” 

Q stills in his arms, just for a moment before he pulls his head back to meet Bond’s eyes. He’s surprised, certainly, but not so much that he questions the ‘we’ that felt so natural on Bond’s tongue. 

“In London?” he asks. “Or outside the city?” 

A gentle tug and he’s snug against Bond’s body. “Whichever you like. Whichever you think the cats would prefer.” 

Q grins. “I don’t need to be in London, but not too far because some of us keep regular hours, you know, and don’t get to laze about–”

Bond kisses the rest of the outrageous accusation away but Q is still grinning when they separate. He’s delighted, and it makes Bond’s chest warm. The contentment he always feels when he’s with Q. A contentment he hasn’t felt since his parents were alive.

He draws Q back to him for another kiss and just for a moment, the house feels like home again.

"Come on," he says eventually. "Let's go find Kincade." Q still looks pleased. Bond smiles as they start down the tunnel, with only the light from his phone to guide them. "You warm enough?" Q is wearing his heavy winter coat, complete with fur.

"It's warmer down here than it was outside." He's looking around, squinting at all the dark corners. "Did you use this tunnel for anything?" he asks.

"Not for any practical purpose." Bond shifts left to avoid the dirt ceiling. "Mind your head," he warns and Q ducks with him, fingers tightening against Bond's palm. "I used to play in here sometimes. Kincade eventually found me out, and my mother forbade it after that."

"And you did as you were told?" Q asks with eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Bond smirks. "What do you think?"

Q smiles as they continue to pick their way through the dark passage, hand in hand.

\--

“Here we are then,” Kincade says as he hands a cup of coffee to Q, hours later; out of the tunnel and after several rounds of target practice out on the moor. Kincade, was naturally impressed with James' skill; Q's as well after applying a bit of good-natured pressure for him to join them. It was fun, mostly because Q enjoyed watching James with the gamekeeper, the easy camaraderie. As much as he enjoyed it though, he's grateful to be inside Kincade's cottage, where it's warm. 

He accepts the coffee with a smile and murmured thanks and immediately wraps both hands around the battered mug, trying to coax some heat back into his limbs. The October chill snuck up quickly.

“Fetch your boyfriend a blanket, there’s a good lad,” Kincade says over his shoulder to James, who is busy hanging coats on the hooks by the door. “You remember where I keep them.”

Q watches James open one of the cupboards to pull out a thick blanket. The black and red tartan has faded but it’s still a welcome warmth as James settles it around his shoulders, and then rubs briskly at Q’s arms to help with circulation. Q smiles up at him. James returns it before accepting a mug of his own from Kincade and sitting beside Q on the lumpy sofa. 

“Did you come here often?” Q asks curiously while their host stokes the fire and fetches biscuits from the kitchen.

“More often than Kincade probably appreciated,” James says with a quick grin.

“You were a proper little shit,” Kincade agrees as he sits across from them in a chair that looks even more dilapidated than the couch. 

“I was,” James says, smiling, when Q glances at him. “Much more trouble than I was worth.” 

“Wouldn’t go that far,” Kincade grunts as he pours something obviously alcoholic from a flask into his coffee before offering up rounds for both of them. 

James accepts. Q shakes his head. The coffee’s already too strong for his liking. He drinks it anyway, in small sips, and finds he’s already warmer.

“Got too big for his boots,” Kincade tells Q, who smiles at the fondness he can hear in the old gamekeeper’s voice. “Fancied himself king of the castle when he was only a wee lad. Liked to order me about. Told me once to do as he said since I would be working for him some day.”

Q laughs, finds James smiling sheepishly into his mug. “Did he really?” Q asks and the gamekeeper smiles widely.

“In the grandest voice you can imagine. Snooty little sod, he was.” He chuckles, eyes bright as he looks James over. “Your dad wasn’t best pleased when he heard you.”

“No,” James agrees, still smiling but Q watches with fascination as a blush rises to his cheeks; something he’s never seen before.

“Scolded you proper,” Kincade reminds him, clearly enjoying the tale as much as the chagrin.

“He made me apologise,” James says with a sidelong glance for Q, who is trying not to grin at the image of a tiny James, scuffling his oxfords in the dirt as he mumbled his apologies to the grizzled gamekeeper. “I didn’t mean it in the least. I really was a little shit.”

“He had his moments,” Kincade tells Q as though it’s a great confidence. “He used to bring me sweets on my birthday. And he was always at my heels, demanding stories and hot chocolate. Insisted only mine would do.”

“You gave me extra chocolate,” James remembers. “Shavings, at the top. My mother never would.”

Kincade chuckles at that. “Couldn’t resist,” he admits. “Not when you would give me that smile of yours.” To Q, he says, “He was always a charmer.”

“Still is,” Q murmurs just for the smirk James throws his way. 

“I missed you when you left,” Kincade mutters into his cup. It’s quiet for a moment, and Q thinks James will let that pass, as though the gamekeeper hasn’t said it at all. James is looking into his own mug but he finally lifts his eyes.

“I should have visited.”

Kincade waves that away, voice gruff again. “You were off with your aunty, lovely lady. I was sorry to hear she died. I offered again to keep you here afterward, but your father’s solicitor wouldn’t hear of it.”

James gazes at him, clearly surprised by the older man’s words. Q touches the small of his back. “I didn’t realise you’d offered,” James finally says, voice strained. Q soothes an arc with his thumb. “Jennings never told me.”

“Why should he? He said I wasn’t a suitable guardian, and he was right. After I heard you joined the naval service, I realised that right enough. Saw you were fine on your own.“ He grins. “And you’ve become a deft shot, just as I hoped you would all those years ago. You would have made your father proud. Your mother as well, what with this one. She would have liked you, Q,” he says firmly as he stands up to fetch more coffee. James watches him go and Q watches James.

Kincade refills both of their mugs when he returns a moment later, gives James another shot from the flask. “Where are you staying?” he asks as he shifts to find a comfortable position in the well-worn chair.

“At the new inn in town,” James tells him.

“Should have brought your things,” Kincade admonishes. “Stayed at the house and saved yourself a few pounds. You’ll stay when you visit again.”

James nods, and Kincade looks satisfied. He offers biscuits round. Q takes two, nibbles at them while James accepts one and sets it on a napkin rather than eating it. “You needn’t worry about where you’ll live if I sell the house,” he says. “The cottage, and the land around it, it’s rightfully yours. After all this time.”

“I’ll say it is,” Kincade says. “Your parents left it to me in their will. To be separated from the rest of the estate upon its sale.” He shakes his head at James’ surprise. “See what I mean, Q? Still thinks he’s king of the castle. Trying to grant me my own property.”

He and Q share a grin. James is smiling too. Q loves to see him like this, at ease in a way he rarely is around other people. Even if James does decide to sell the house, Q will make sure to nudge him back out here for visits.

“James used to say he was never leaving the moor,” Kincade muses. “Wanted to know if he could build a house here someday, right alongside this one, in fact. So you wouldn’t have to leave your mother.” He chuckles at the memory and Q waits to see James’ reaction. For the melancholy that’s been touching his eyes since they arrived. And there is a little of that, but his smile is soft, the memory obviously a good one. Somehow, it’s a relief to know his parents were good to him. 

“Your dad tried to explain you wouldn’t want to live here forever,” Kincade adds, eyes gleaming his own enjoyment of the memories. “That you’d fall in love and move out on your own but you wouldn’t hear of it, as stubborn as you were…” 

Q reaches for James’ hand, smiling when he folds it in his own as Kincade continues on with the story. 

\--

“We do have our things in the car,” Q says as he and Bond cross the dark moor, away from Kincade’s cottage, and back toward the house. “If you wanted to stay at the house instead of the inn.”

“Everything’s under dust sheets.”

“Would only take a moment to take them off. Kincade said he keeps the heat on so the pipes won’t freeze.” He chafes at his arms and Bond can see he’s back to shivering now that they’re away from the heat of the fire.

“Cold?” he asks, and of course he is. Q always runs cold. “Here.” He stops without waiting for an answer and Q stops as well, face pinching in confusion.

“You need your coat,” he protests when Bond pulls the heavy winter coat off. “It’s two miles back to the car.”

“I know,” Bond says patiently. “I could walk this path in my sleep.” He holds out the coat. “Hold this.”

“But–” The protest is banked as Bond pulls his jumper over his head. He’s wearing two layers beneath and he’ll be warm enough without it. He puts the coat back on and waits patiently while Q takes off his own, wrestles with the jumper and finally replaces the coat. Bond grins at the picture he makes, the jumper nearly swallowing him. 

Q huffs at him. “What?”

“I like you in my clothes.”

“I look ridiculous.”

“Delectable,” Bond corrects and that makes Q laugh.

“I look delectable in a jumper so big it could fit two of me?”

“When it’s mine,” Bond tells him as he flips up Q’s furry hood and pulls the zip to his chin, “yes.”

Q smiles at him, his face framed by the dark fur–the coat is a ridiculous thing, no arguments there, and he can’t even see the jumper any longer but he knows it’s there, keeping Q warm.

Bond’s fingers curl in the coat, to tug him in for a kiss; lingers over his cold cheek. Q is smiling. “You want to fuck me in this jumper, don’t you?”

It’s not the jumper specifically that has his cock interested, but he hums into the hinge of Q’s jaw. “I am going to fuck you,” he mutters. “Right here if we don’t move along.”

“You’re the one waylaying us.”

“Mm.”

“It’s too cold out here for fucking, besides.”

“In the car then,” Bond counters with a grin. “You can keep the jumper on while you ride my dick.”

A throat clears behind them. Q freezes, and if Bond didn’t recognize that particular sound, from the many times Kincade used it when he caught a younger James doing things he oughtn’t, he would be reaching for his gun. He smiles instead, bites off a laugh as he sees the mortification on Q’s face–at least the blush will warm him a little.

Bond turns, greets the gamekeeper with a smile. Q stays where he is, slightly behind as though that will offset the embarrassment.

“Thought you’d like to take this with you,” Kincade says in answer, holding up the shotgun that used to belong to Bond’s father. “Meant to suggest it before you left.”

“I would. Thank you.” He tests the weight of it in his hands, as he did when they did a bit of target practice with it earlier.

“You’ll need to decide what to do with the rest if you sell.”

“You’re welcome to the lot,” Bond tells him. Kincade has more use for the shotguns out here on the moor than he. “I’ll tell Jennings where he can put his protests, if he has any.”

Kincade laughs, a cheerful sound, no resentment for what James considers a terrible decision in not allowing him to stay with Kincade after his parents died. His aunty, despite the older man’s assessment, had not been lovely in any way. She disliked children, and made certain James knew it.

It was a relief when she sent him off to Eton.

It’s something he hasn’t thought about in years, and doesn’t particularly want to now. “Have a look,” he suggests, “and whatever’s left, I’ll tell Jennings to sell.”

“Might do,” Kincade grunts. “Off with you now, or you won’t make it to the car before Q turns to ice.”

Q leans out from behind Bond’s back. “No, it’s all right. I’m warm enough.”

“Reckon so if you’ve got James’ jumper,” Kincade snorts.

Bond, reigning in the smirk when Q admonishes him with an elbow in his ribs, says to Kincade, “See you in the morning.” 

Kincade grunts as he turns and ducks into the wind. Bond watches him go, still pleased with the prospect of joining the gamekeeper for shooting tomorrow. Q will probably be less so, given how cold it will be. But he’ll come anyway, Bond knows. He turns back to his quartermaster, to his wind-chapped cheeks and smiles. 

Q’s nose wrinkles. “You should have realised he was there. Aren’t you a double oh?”

“I was distracted by the thought of you riding my dick.”

“I’m not having sex with you in the car,” Q says; with finality, unfortunately.

Sighing, Bond takes his hand and tugs him close to his side as they start back on the path to the car. “I can wait,” he says.

Unsurprisingly, Q gives him a dubious look. But his mind is with other things as he winds their fingers together. “I’m glad we came.” A nudge for Bond’s hip. “I have all sorts of blackmail now.”

“You say that as though I’m not already at your mercy.”

“Mm, I rather like the sound of that.”

“Thought you might.”

Q smiles at him, bright and full of promise, but even so Bond doesn’t expect to be kissed again, not when Q is so cold and there’s a chance Kincade might still be lurking.

Not that he minds. He gives back just as enthusiastically until Q pulls back with both hands fastened to Bond’s face. His hands are like ice, but Bond lets him look his fill, arching an eyebrow after a moment.

“I love you,” Q says, in a voice that Bond very much associates with the one he uses most often in his duties as quartermaster. The one that Bond is absolutely not meant to argue with, even if, every so often, he does. There’s no reason to now.

He smiles and, in the shadow of his parents' house, Q kisses him.

  



End file.
